Sins of the Father
by Marina Black1
Summary: The sins of the father will be visited upon the son a thousand times. Molly Hooper carries a secret deep within her womb that could change the lines of fate forever. Only she can choose now which path to take.  Includes Molliarty, Sherlolly, Johnlock...and a few mystery pairings.
1. Chapter 1

_Moriarity_.

The word was as bitter of her lips as the bile from her stomach. This morning, as many mornings before, she awoke in a cold sweat. It was as if he were there in the room; a ghostly figure waiting for her in the depths of the shadows. He was dead, of course. Sherlock had promised her over and over. He'd seen the barrel of a gun slide between those too-white teeth, the explosion of the gun, and the bits of brain spilling out onto the pavement. His beady black eyes opened wide and his mouth permanently stuck in that cocky little grin.

There had been a funeral for Mr. Richard Brook. Nobody came. Not Sherlock, not John, not even that Kitty woman from the papers. But she had. She wanted to see him one last time...to touch him and know beyond a shadow of a doubt that the bastard was dead and gone, never to hurt another person she loved ever again.

Standing at the gravesite, she stood under a large umbrella while the priest droned on about peace and eternal life. Her lips quirked up; eternal damnation was more like it. The world could only be at peace now that he was dead and gone. After the service the priest consoled her...not that she'd needed it. He tried to make her go home and get some rest but she stood her ground; until he was covered over with dirt, six feet underground, she would not be satisfied.

It had taken hours for the gravediggers to come out with their shovels and finish the job of burying him. The cold was bitter and she shivered deep within her soul. It was done. As she stood at the gravesite, she'd stared down at the headstone. Richard Brook, loving friend... January 15, 1981 - January 15, 2012. Clever, clever Jim...he'd given himself exactly the birthday present he'd wanted. Death.

Walking away from the grave, she seemed to ache more with each step. The roiling in her belly started again and her legs felt leaden. Thankfully she hadn't driven here. Tucked safely into a cab, she headed for her small flat. What she needed now was a hot cup of tea and some crap telly. Anything to distract her from the through racing through her head.

She had believed that seeing him buried would ease the pain. It would make her better able to stand in front of the mirror each morning and put on her makeup without his voice in her ear, _"You're beautiful without that powder on your face. Leave it, Mollybear...for me?" _If he was really dead and buried, he couldn't hold any power over her. She wouldn't envision him on the sofa, sipping tea-two sugars, just like Sherlock. Nor would she awaken in the middle of the night gasping for breath as she remembered his hands trailing down her body, his teeth scraping over her pert breasts while she screamed in a jumble of agony and ecstasy. The longer she sat there, the more the profound sense of longing grew until she ran to the toilet and vomited until nothing came up but bile.

Her. Missing James Moriarity. A man who had tormented her friends, terrified a nation, and murdered countless people in cold blood...all because he was bored. She should hang just for thinking it. And yet...he'd never been cold or cruel to her. He listened to her, comforted her, he'd had her virginity. And he'd left her with a piece of himself, buried inside her. Nobody knew...except Sherlock of course. She couldn't keep a single thing from him, even if she'd wanted to. He'd known before she had.

_"You've gained three pounds..." His eyes didn't lift from the microscope but she knew he could sense the rage boiling inside her. _"Two and a half..."_ Her voice quaked. "Three." _Storming out of the room, she grabbed her coat and headed straight for home. She knew why he did it; to force her eyes open to a possibility she didn't want to consider. Moriarty was a distant memory to her; he laid dormant, awaiting the perfect moment to strike. She was dating...bloody hell if she could even remember his name now. He was chubby, blonde, passably handsome for someone mousy and plain like her and he had a steady job. What more could she hope for?

St. Bart's was just a hop, skip, and a jump away from her flat. Or on this particular occasion, a limp, crawl and a slog...numbly she walked down the street and passed a pharmacy on the way. At first she'd walked right past it. Nothing to see there! But something caught her eye. A young family walking down the street. Mother dressed in a purple overcoat, pushing a pram while the beaming father walked beside her, arm around her waist. They were disgustingly happy. Turning on heel, she headed back into the store.

The bell over the door let out a cheery clang but to Molly it felt like a death knell. Trembling fingers picked at the pregnancy tests, reading each of them twice. But the words just blurred in front of her. Deciding on a whim to pick the one with was plainly wrapped in a white and blue box, as opposed to ones with chubby, happy babies on them, she paid for it and shoved it into her purse. Turning on heel, she rushed back to the apartment and darted up the stairs. The directions were simple: pee in cup, dip test, wait three minutes...

Oh if it only were that simple. Her hands were shaking, her heart pounding, and her vision was swimming. Sitting at the edge of the tub, she counted under her breath... 1...18...29...66...89...115...180. Three minutes. Reaching a shaky hand out for the test, she grasped it. She expected emotion to rush over her, overtake her in its avalanche. But she just felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. Staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, she felt as if she'd been removed from her body and was an impartial observer watching the scene unfold.

Molly Hooper was pregnant with James Moriarty's child. The spawn of Satan had sired this child with her...right now it was growing, changing, and being shaped within her womb. A scorching pain seared through Molly and she cried out, realizing that she had forgotten to breathe. Her head pounded and her stomach twisted again. A baby...Jim said he knew what her deepest desires were and that he'd make them all come true. Had he known that she'd always wanted to be a mother? Had he known that her womb had been particularly achy as her twenty-ninth birthday approached, one year closer to spinsterhood. He must have...that's why he left her with this 'gift'.

Although she was half-delirious, she managed to walk into the bedroom and lie down on the bed. Even now she could sense the changes happening to her life. She'd have to break up with 'what's his face'. Explaining to him that she was carrying the child of a serial murderer tended to scare guys off. She wanted him to remember her differently. Her clothes weren't tight yet but she could feel that her belly had imperceptibly softened (imperceptibly unless you were Sherlock Holmes, that was). And her heart was breaking little by little. She couldn't destroy this baby, even if he was the child of a sadistic murderer. But she needed help...

Reaching for her phone, she took a steadying breath. Her fingers pressed the keys one by one, finally hovering over the send key: _I need your help. -Molly._

She had no choice. There was only one person who could help her now...and she couldn't afford to wait any longer. Closing her eyes, she hit the button and waited. Phone resting in her hand, she was startled when she got a text back just moments later. Reading it carefully, she immediately slid out of bed and went to find her purse.

_Meet me at the tramway. 1 hour. Wear a coat._

He would know what to do...he had to.

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><p>AN: So I kind of wrote this on a whim this afternoon. I'm not sure where it's going or if I'm going to continue! But I'd love to get some feedback! If I see positive reviews I'll keep working... who do you think Molly texted? What's going to happen next? Hope to hear from you soon!


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft was an ally she never expected to have. But he was the only one should could turn to. Moriarty had called him the iceman but there were cracks in the ice, especially after Sherlock's alleged suicide. He had been so broken...watching him at Sherlock's funeral made her heart ache. She was not actually allowed to attend, Sherlock forbade it... _You can't act worth a damn. And if you can't act, you can't risk it. Find my brother. Give him this letter and this message. Molly! Are you listening! THIS MESSAGE EXACTLY!_

After the ceremony, she'd trailed after him for nearly four hours before he finally came to rest at home. She distinctly remembered the way he looked that evening. It was oddly sunny for London, casting a harsh glow over his pale face. He stepped out of the car devoid of his usual female companion. Anthea had apparently taken the day off to spend with that boyfriend she was always texting. Leaving her employer to suffer silently and alone.

Moving out of the shadows, she made her way up the front steps. Poised to knock, she found herself bowled over as Mycroft flung the door open. He wasn't holding a weapon but the expression on his face was an ominous message that if she made one wrong move, she would be dead in an instant. "I'm M-Molly Hooper, sir?" She was trembling again. "I'm a f-friend of Sherlock's. And...I have a message from him."

The expression on Mycroft's face was one of disdain and disgust. "Miss Hooper, we've laid my brother to rest today. I am not interested in playing games. Tell me what you want and be on your way!"

"This isn't exactly business we should discuss on a porch, Mycroft." The audacity that had bubbled up from somewhere deep inside absolutely stunned her. Maybe Sherlock was rubbing off on her...she simply walked in, went over to the sofa and plopped down on it before her legs gave way beneath her.

It was clear from the look on his face that he was debating whether to applaud her or shoot to kill. Closing the door, he swept into the living room. He was elegant, graceful...and far haughtier than Sherlock was, which Molly hadn't been sure was possible. He didn't sit. He simply stared down at her, "Miss Hooper you have exactly one minute to explain why you're here. At that time I'll kindly have Scotland Yard escort you out."

Looking up at him with a drawn expression, she swallowed. "This is a matter of the highest secrecy...the night before you brother's...suicide..." She watched Mycroft wince, "He came to me. He told me he was going to die." Reaching into her jacket, she pulled out a letter that was clearly written in Sherlock's own hand. "Moriarty had everything all figured out. Down to the very last letter but...he didn't account for all the variables." Mycroft was clearly growing impatient and he held his hand out for the letter. "Before you read this, I've been instructed to tell you that..." Damn it, what had Sherlock said again? He said to tell Mycroft verbatim what he said. He'd grabbed her face...and it almost felt like he was going to kiss her and she'd gone weak in the knees.

"Instructed to tell me what!" Mycroft hollered. He clearly was not having any of this.

"The sins of the father will be visited upon the son a thousand times!" Molly cried. Her heart leapt into her throat as Mycroft seemed to sag under the weight of his own body. Gripping the edge of the chair, he looked pale as a ghost. Bolting upwards, she grasped his arm and shoved him into a chair before he hit the floor. "Are you alright?"

Sherlock. Alive. Mycroft knew the second the phrase was uttered. It was a proverb that they'd learned early on in their lives and one that only the Sherlock boys knew so intimately. A childhood of abuse and degradation from a scorned mother, left alone to raise two boys far more clever and resourceful than she. Ah, but there was the rub...they may have been more clever but she had a heavier hand. "Where is he, Miss Hooper? Where? And how? I saw the body myself! We all did!"

Molly licked her lips, "It's all in the letter. And...he's safe. He told me not to tell you where he was. I think he wants to protect you." That wasn't what Sherlock had said, of course. He had told her that Mycroft would lecture him for hours if he found out where he was hiding and he didn't want to go through all the trouble of tuning him out.

Reading that letter, Mycroft had found a new respect for Molly. And respect was much like affection. Setting the letter down, he reached out and squeezed her hand. "It will be done." Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a business card. "You've helped my family at great personal sacrifice, Molly Hooper. I am in your debt." Pressing the card into her palm, he looked into her eyes. "This is my personal number. Call me at any time. Day or night."

Thinking nothing of it, she stuffed the number into her pocket. She'd let herself out, giving him a little wave as she allowed him to start making the phone calls that were necessary to help Sherlock out of this sticky situation. And she went home...to Sherlock and to Toby who had never quite gotten along. They were both too egotistical to truly be friends.

That had been several weeks ago. Sherlock was thriving...although incredibly bored. Mycroft had moved them to a very modest flat, nothing that would raise suspicion. But it had a basement space where Sherlock could shoot off his gun and tear out the walls without the neighbors complaining. It was actually very nice, a quiet cottage just outside London so the rent was lower. She had a rideshare into St. Bart's with a woman who lived farther down the lane...and it would have an extra bedroom that she'd be needing since Moriarity's seed had planted in her womb.

Tucking her coat tighter around herself, she called a cab to take her to the tramway. It was sure to be abandoned at this time of night but protected from the cold drizzle of rain that came down around her, frizzing up her hair as usual. It was a short ride to the station, thankfully. After paying the cabbie in full, she headed around the side of the station to the tramway. But it wasn't Mycroft she saw there...it was Anthea.

As usual she was texting away. Her nimble, overly manicured fingers typing away at the keys. Refusing to look up from her keyboard. Perhaps staying with Sherlock was making her more aware of things...then again, who couldn't notice the gigantic diamond ring on her finger? Seemed Anthea's boyfriend was now her fiancé. Taking a brief pause, she opened the door and signaled for Molly to get in.

"Oh that's alright..." Molly replied, knowing that being whisked away to some far away, secret location where they would talk for two minutes wasn't what she needed right now. "I'll be fine. Not a problem..." She turned to walk away but Anthea's voice chilled her as it echoed off the walls of the tramway.

"I have strict instructions to get you in the car whether you like it or not, Mollybear. Do us both a favor and just get in."

The screeching sound of a train coming to a halt outside slammed her back into reality for a moment. She thought about running, about screaming...about doing anything! Instead she stood there like a doornail, shaking and staring at the car.

"Jim was right...you are adorable." Walking around the car, she moved toward her. "Come on, in you go. I don't want to have to use my gun...I just got my nails done." Prodding her lightly, she moved the younger woman toward the car.

_Moriarity_.

It played in her head over and over. James Moriarity was alive. Even from beyond the grave he was pulling strings, making his puppets lurch and sway under his control. Sitting in the seat of the car, she leaned back and closed her eyes. It had to be a dream...it had to be...it had to. A hand reaching over and buckling the seat belt jolted her.

"Buckle up, poppet. You have to protect that precious cargo." Anthea smirked as she gave the seatbelt a much wider berth than was necessary over Molly's abdomen.

Checking that the seatbelt was fastened, Molly watched as the car pulled out of the tramway and twisted down roads. She was lost after all the weaving and changing directions. All the pitching back and forth was making her ever so nauseous. She dry heaved just as the car slowed to a halt, the door flying open as soon as they stopped. She saw him there, smiling at her with a twistedly boyish expression of excitement on his face.

No, no! He was dead. She'd seen him cold and dead in the grave. And here he was. Soft and warm and pulling her up into his arms. Breathing in the soft scent of him, a mixture of laundry soap, sandalwood and what she believed was bleach, she felt the world start to fade to black around her. Exhausted from being ill and frightened and ever so tired, she sagged in his arms as her consciousness abandoned her. Her head lolling back as he held tighter to her.

The grin on Jim's face widened even more until it almost seemed like it would crack. "Anthea, tell Mrs. Finney to arrange a room for my houseguest." He didn't have to look back to know that the woman was doing what she was told. She was a good little minion. Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her into the large house, heading upstairs to where the large bed was turned down and waiting. Slipping her under the covers, he let out a soft, maniacal laugh, "Sleep now, Mollybear...daddy will check on you later. He has some..._business_ to attend to first." Leaning down, he gave her a tender kiss on the forehead. Slipping from the room, he left Molly tucked up in a featherbed and her head resting on soft pillows, her hair fanned out beneath her.

Tiptoeing from the room, he gently slid the door closed and let out a soft giggle. "Let the games begin."

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><p>I've been overwhelmed by the positive comments for this story! I still have absolutely no idea where it's going...muse can be a tricky thing! But keep reading and reviewing and I'll keep updating. This is everything I have so far! Have a lovely rest of the weekend, all!<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Molly's mouth felt as if she'd swallowed a bale of cotton. She came up from the depths of sleep slowly, as if she'd been drugged. It took a long time for her to realize that she wasn't in her lumpy old bed with its old cotton blankets. No, she was pretty sure she'd slept on a cloud. Eyes opened slowly as she peered around the room. Oh no...this definitely wasn't home.

The bed must have been a king. It was made of rich mahogany, four posters covered with gauzy linen drapery. A featherbed rested on top of her, cushioning her perfectly as she slept beneath the softest cotton sheets she'd ever felt against her skin. To the left was a door and she hoped it was a bathroom...instead she found it was a closet that was bigger than her flat in London had been. Tiptoeing toward the door on the opposite side of the room, she trailed her fingers over rich wood cabinets and a boudoir that would make a princess blush.

Her fingertips hovered over the door. At any second she expected Jim to jump out from somewhere and grab her. Instead she peeked through the keyhole and found a luxurious bathroom across the hall. After taking care of her most urgent needs, she went to the sink and washed. Splashing some water on her face, she peered at herself in the mirror. She seemed out of place in a home like this. Old, pilled sweater over a simple black tank top, pleated pants that had been bought at a second hand store and hemmed messily by her own hand. Her dark hair hung around her face. Her mother had called her frumpy...and she supposed that was accurate enough.

It occurred to Molly a moment later that she was in Jim Moriarty's house. Panic seared through her. He was alive...he had gotten to her. Checking her pocket, she realized that she'd left her phone in the pocket of her coat. Heading back into the bedroom she searched high and low for it. Checking in the gigantic closet filled with clothes that Molly could only assume belonged to Anthea. Heading back into the room she started looking through the drawers.

"Can I help you find something, dear?" A weathered voice called from the doorway. "I'm Mrs. Finney, the housekeeper...Jimmy's asked me to look after you. He unfortunately had to run off... " In her hand was a tray of tea and biscuits. "The boy is such a dear but he works himself to death! To think, running off at all hours for business!" She let out a soft laugh.

Molly turned slowly. Mrs. Finney instantly reminded her of a doting grandmother. Her hair was silvery white and hung in a thick plait down her back. She was dressed in solid black, the mark of a widow. "I was looking for my coat?"

Mrs. Finney set the tray down, filling up a cup. "Why, it's downstairs in the coat closet, dear! But don't tell me you're leaving so soon. Jimmy will be ever so upset." She offered Molly the cup with her gnarled arthritic hand. "At least have a cuppa...you look exhausted, child. Sit! Sit!"

"Oh..." She had to get downstairs and find that coat. But that was forgotten the moment the tea was in her hand; she let out a shaky breath. Her mouth was so dry and the warmth soothed her. Taking a sip, she settled down in a large armchair. She felt the fight leave her body as she got a strong whiff of the lavender tea. Jim must have revealed that it was her favorite. "So...how long have you known Jim?"

Lighting up like a child on Christmas, Mrs. Finney settled herself on the settee across from her. She poured herself a cup of tea as if she'd just been waiting for an invitation. "Since he was just a boy! Oh and what a wonderful child he was...a bit heavy on the puppy dog tails, if you ask me. But he reminded me so much of my own boys...rest their souls."

A tightening in her heart brought Molly's hand to her belly instinctively. She may have been a widow but the pain in her eyes wasn't from the loss of a husband...but the loss of her children. "I'm s-sorry..." Molly said softly.

"Jim was a balm to my old heart...take a biscuit dear." Pushing one into Molly's hand, she smiled. "Jim's father was a severe man...always pushing him to be better, smarter...and what a temper he had," She made a disapproving noise, "And Jim is ever so sensitive...and so eager to please." She let out a heavy sigh. Leaning in, she patted her hand, "And his mother left when he was born...something wrong with that one..." She whispered.

A large part of Molly wondered if something genetic had caused Jim to go wrong...but then Mrs. Finney had hinted at a childhood of abuse. The nature versus nurture debate sparked up in her head. Finishing up her cup of tea and her biscuit which had been lovely, she smiled, "It's been lovely but I'm afraid I'll overstay my welcome. I really should get going..."

Mrs. Finney looked as if she'd been struck. "Well alright dear...I'll call you a cab then. But...won't you at least stay for supper? I'm making beef wellington...Jim said it was your favorite. I've been positively slaving in the kitchen all day..."

"Well..." Molly had a tender heart as it was, she couldn't deny her; she was an adorable old woman who was so excited to have a guest. Never mind of course that she was deliberately putting herself in Moriarty's path. He would find her wherever she was...and the prospect of learning more about Jim was too lucrative to pass up. "Alright." She swallowed, "Would it be alright if I cleaned myself up a bit?"

"Of course!" The woman burst out. "Jim went shopping for days in anticipation of your arrival. He does talk of you so..." She gave her a beaming crooked smile. "Have a peek in the closet and see what he picked out. I helped a bit...men don't have the best taste at times. If they had their way everything would be sheer and décolletage!"

A blush crept over her cheeks. All those clothes for her? Jim had been shopping with her in mind? It excited and frightened her in equal quantities. She stood and walked into the overwhelming closet. Upon closer inspection, everything was in her size. How did Jim even know what size she wore? Tracing a finger over a shimmery, silky dress, she pulled it off the hangar. It was royal purple- her second favorite color-and felt ever so soft against her skin.

Heading across to the bathroom, she turned on the shower and marveled in it. Everything was granite and luxurious; especially the spray of hot water sluicing down her skin. She used shampoo and conditioner that she'd found there; she assumed they were Jim's. Being this intimately surrounded by his things made her feel...oddly warm.

Stepping out of the shower, she wrung out her hair into a towel, wrapping another around her body. After brushing out her hair, she let it fall around her shoulders in waves. Slipping on the dress, she let out a soft gasp. She looked like a queen. She'd never looked better...her hand slipped down to her waist. It didn't quite show yet although there was a noticeable softening there...and her breasts were larger than they'd ever been. It was her only hope of filling this lovely dress out.

Hesitantly, Molly headed out of the bathroom and tiptoed down the stairs. She still wasn't convinced this place was safe. The smell of food assaulted her and her stomach growled. Obviously she'd made the right decision to stay for dinner. And now she had time to explore. So far nothing had jumped out at her and so she decided to forge ahead.

The floor was old but well kept, it creaked slightly against her feet. The foyer was grand, the ceilings easily twenty feet tall and a gigantic chandelier hung there, little rainbows dancing in the room when light caught the crystal. Opening up the closet, she found coats. AHA! Finding her overcoat, she dug in the pockets, grabbing her cell phone. She turned it on and moaned softly. No service.

Holding the phone tight, she headed out of the closet on a mission. She hurried toward the window, praying that she'd get just one bar. Just one single bar. So far, no luck. She entered a room to the left that was a spectacularly decorated dining room, obviously prepared for dinner. Not wanting to get caught, she headed through a side door and found a butler's pantry. Still no service...

Molly felt a bit like Sherlock Holmes, rushing through rooms, looking for a signal, a clue...something! But it was hopeless...her phone wasn't picking up a signal anywhere downstairs. And then she heard Mrs. Finney calling her for dinner, "Molly! Molly! Supper's ready!"

Guiltily she tucked the phone the only place she could stash it, inside her bra. She scampered into the dining room and clumsily stumbled into the arms of just the man she expected to see creeping around this house. Instead of groping her like she expected, he steadied her and then dropped his hands. He was freshly shaven...she could tell by the knick right below his jaw. It made him seem more...human. His hair had been recently cut too, it was shorter than she'd noticed earlier this afternoon. The thought shook her. "Jim..."

"Hush, poppet..." He said softly, pulling out a chair for her at the dining room table. "Relax and eat. You much be hungry..." Walking into the kitchen, he came back with steaming plates and set one in front of her.

A sense of stepping into the twilight zone buzzed around her. She'd seen Jim in many capacities...doting homosexual boyfriend, overzealous criminal mastermind, destroyer of innocents, spiller of blood...and now as just a man, a king in his castle. Staring at him, she sank down in the chair and stared at the food. It looked so good and her mouth watered...but... Jim had served it to her. Who knew what he had done to it?

Jim sat down at the head of the table, grabbing his fork and knife. He waited...watching her hawkishly. A full minute passed. Letting out an annoyed huff of breath, he took a bite and then picked up the plate and put it in front of her. "Do you really think I'd poison you, Molly?" He shook his head, "Poison is ever so boring...and you know as well as I do, I wouldn't harm a single hair on your head."

Silently, she picked up her utensils and began to eat. It was...heaven. The last few weeks she'd been so ill that eating had seemed impossible. But this was food for the soul. It took a lot not to inhale it. Jim poured himself some wine but she was served water with lots of ice, just the way she liked it. She finished her whole plate and Jim got up, serving her more before she could even ask. It was odd to be waited on by him. "Thank you," She said softly.

A smile slid over his features as he leaned back in the chair, sipping his wine. He had finished his meal and sat there, staring at her. "You are gorgeous..." He finally broke the silence hovering between them. "That dress is..."

"What do you want from me?" Molly's own voice startled her and she jumped. "Sorry...I mean...well, what do you want from me?" Her voice was softer this time, shakier. "You were dead...I went to your funeral. I saw you in that casket. I waited until they buried you..."

Jim's smile faded slightly as he peered at her. "I thought you'd be happy, Mollybear. Your Jim, returned to you..." He chuckled, "I saw you there, looking so...forlorn. It tore me up, poppet."

Molly wanted to scream that she hadn't been sad at all. She'd been overjoyed but...that wasn't exactly true, was it? She'd been conflicted. "_How_ did you do it, Jim?"

"Have you ever read Romeo and Juliet, Mollybear?" He reached out and touched her hand, wincing as she pulled away. It was as if she'd stabbed him and twisted the knife. A muscle in his cheek ticked as he took another long drink of wine. "Ah well never mind that, it's so _boring_. I want to talk about us...about our child."

She should have known that would come up. "Who told you?" Obviously he knew. Anthea had known and that woman was about as observant as a rock. If she ever untangled herself from that phone of hers, she might have realized it. Yet the odds of that were low, which meant someone had to have told her. But there was only one person who knew she was pregnant...

"No one needed to TELL me Molly." He replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You're expecting and we both know I'm the only man you've ever been with." He smiled, "I'm overjoyed, Mollybear. Over the moon." His smile grew.

"But who TOLD you I'm expecting. I haven't even told my mum, Jim." Sherlock knew but she wasn't about to tell Jim that. He'd forced Sherlock to jump off a building to his 'death'. After all the work that had gone into saving him she wasn't about to blow it now.

Standing up, he laughed. "I've been watching you, Molly. I've been watching you for a long time...since I was 'Jim from IT'."

The lilt in his vo'ice was playful, childish...it turned her stomach over. "Watching me how?" She felt violated, frightened.

"Jim from IT helping poor technophobe Molly turn on her spell checker..." He laughed again, "I downloaded a little spybug..." Moving toward her, he rested his hands on her shoulders. "Oh the things you do on that computer of yours..." He moaned in her ear.

Tears burned in her throat. She was so shamed, embarrassed that he'd seen her when she was vulnerable. Burying her face in her hands, she wanted to run but he was holding her. His hands were light on her shoulders but she felt like she was trapped in a vise. And the more she struggled, the tighter the tentacles would bind.

"Shh shh shhhh," Jim murmured in her ear, "There's nothing to be upset about, poppet." He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. "I was watching that day you took the test." His fingers dragged through her damp tresses. "I was just as excited as you were..."

Molly swallowed hard. The beef wellington was starting to churn in her stomach. "I wasn't excited...I was frightened and torn." But that wasn't the whole truth. She was excited even though her fear grew with every day. Especially now that she was right in the spider's web.

Jim's hands dipped down to her belly and his breath was hot on her neck as he leaned down. "Think of the life our children will lead. Daddy's the king and mommy his beautiful queen running this poor, pathetic little world side by side." His face hovered near hers, "What do you say, Mollybear?"

Turning her look at him, she opened her mouth to speak but was cut off. His lips sealed over hers, soft, tender...she wasn't expecting it at all. It was just this kind of behavior that made her so frightened but also attracted her to him on a primal level. He kept her on her toes, always off balance but right there to catch her if she tipped. "Jim..."

His lips ghosted over her cheek as he pulled back, "Hmm?"

"Yes."

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><p>Hmm...I wonder where this is going next. What do you think so far? Should I continue?<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock paced the room again, "Fourteen...fifteen...sixteen..." Turning back around abruptly, he spun in a way that would make most of the population instantly dizzy. "Sixteen..." He repeated. Sixteen made sense. It could be explained. But anything beyond sixteen...was wrong. Absolutely bloody wrong. Something was wrong with Molly.

Eight hours passed and Sherlock didn't worry. Eight hours was a normal shift for a woman, especially Molly who sometimes worked upwards of ten to twelve hours if the morgue was busy that afternoon. She was much like him in that way; she didn't leave until the job was finished. So he thought nothing of it when eleven hours had passed and she hadn't returned back.

After the twelfth hour, Sherlock started to get a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach. She should have been home by now. Since he was going crazy without a case, he immediately jumped into action. There were thirty scenarios that made sense to him as the minutes ticked away to hour thirteen...illicit tryst, mugging, falling asleep at work, car accident or traffic holdup in London, just to name a few.

But once they'd hit twenty hours missing, only one remained. And the word left a bitter taste in his mouth. _Moriarty_.

Molly had asked him a thousand times if Sherlock was sure he was gone...and perhaps it was naive of him to assume that he was. His rational mind had concluded that a point-blank shot to the head would be fatal. But then, Moriarty was always a wily one. Was faking being shot in the head any harder than faking jumping off the top of a building? Naturally, Sherlock was certain that faking a fall was definitely harder; it required much more finesse and skill.

Ahem, back to the task at hand...Molly had been missing now for nearly an entire day. He thought back to earlier that week and frowned. Molly was sitting on the couch, spread out under a blanket. The redness of her eyes and nose gave away that she'd spent most of the morning ill and/or crying...Sherlock would put money on the fact that it had been both.

Coming up silently from his hidey-hole in the basement, he watched her as she reached for a cup of tea and spilled a bit, cursing slightly. "Shite..." She murmured and grabbed a paper towel from the coffee table, mopping up the spill. Setting the cup down, she bent over.

Sherlock moved to stand in front of her, "I need something."

Molly's face fell. Ever since she had taken Sherlock in, he'd pushed the boundaries of social nicety and nearly driven her out of her mind. He rarely said please or thank you, he didn't gently ask if she could do him a favor but instead demanded that he needed something. "Not today, Sherlock, I don't feel well..."

"Ah...and moping about the apartment and eating your weight in chocolates is helping?" He snapped back at her. "I need you to bring something over to Mycroft. It's pertinent to the Gibraltar Case he's working on..."

Moaning softly, she buried her face in her hands. "Can't you simply text him and ask him to swing by for it? For God's sake!" She didn't feel up to going out. Not in the slightest. But the quirk of Sherlock's lips and the way he threw his head back and laughed made it even worse. "Fine."

Mycroft? Pop over and pick something up? That was a good one, Molly. Heading into the kitchen, he came back with a lukewarm cup of tea from the pot she'd made earlier. "Your pregnancy is progressing I see. To most it would just look like beginnings of abdominal obesity...however if they looked carefully they could see the widening of your hips and that your meager breasts had also increased."

A flush of scarlet burned through her, staining her cheeks and the lobes of her ears. Why did he say things like that? She wasn't sure if he was trying to embarrass her or if he really didn't understand that she didn't want anyone noticing that her belly had begun to soften or that her breasts were bigger. "Just give me the message..."

"Very well," He handed her a thick envelope and placed a five pound note in her hand with a face that clearly said 'for your troubles'. She didn't seem so enthused by it and so he withdrew it without asking. What was she huffing about anyhow? Women! He just didn't understand them...he blamed the hormones.

Calling a cab, she slid into the seat. Of course she wouldn't have the cab take her directly to Mycroft's...she was let off a ways away and then cut through alleys and shrubs until finally she reached his front door. Checking her pockets for her cell phone, she sighed. No bars...leave it to Mycroft to live in a dead zone. She resolved to simply knock on his door...

Mycroft had not been expecting company this afternoon. The soft knocking on the door got his attention quickly. "Anthea, who is it?" He snapped irritably. What the damned good was a mega security system when the woman who was supposed to be monitoring it was always on the phone. "Anthea!"

"It's that mousy girl from St. Bart's..." Anthea didn't look up from the keypad on her phone. "Should I have her escorted off the premises?" She asked, finally glancing up.

"Of course not. Let her in and then make yourself scarce!" Mycroft snapped, rubbing his temples. Why was it that he invited insubordination into his life. She watched the woman swish over to the doorway, opening it up and then heading off into the other room. "Come in, Molly."

Scooting over to where he was standing, she licked her lips. "I have a package for you. Something about Gibraltar." She handed him the thick envelope and watched his expression go from dark to gleeful.

That sly Sherlock...make demands of him that were nearly impossible without so much as a thank you. Until the thank you arrived a week later wrapped up in a pretty manila envelope. "Thank you for bringing this to me." He looked her over. "Sit, please." Pouring her a cup of tea, he handed it to her. "You look tired, my dear, I dearly hope that a certain someone is not wearing you out."

Gracefully taking the cup of tea, she took a sip. It was clearly expensive tea and brewed with masterful skill...she knew he'd done it himself. No way a man as powerful as Mycroft would allow anyone to brew his tea for him. She crossed her legs carefully, "No, no...I'm fine." She gave him a weak smile. "Long hours at work is all..."

Mycroft's expression softened slightly. Molly Hooper was not a woman to complain about anything; he liked that. It was a trait he admired in anyone, a female in particular. In general he found the fairer sex to be weaker and emotional but now that he had a chance to see her close up he realized that she wasn't ordinary at all. It was no wonder Sherlock had entrusted his life to her. "Ah...well, I understand that the added burden of a...new addition...can be difficult so if you wish to be compensated, by all means-" He meant not only putting up with Sherlock but it didn't take a consulting detective to see that she was with child.

"Oh!" Molly nearly tipped the tea onto her lap. "No no, Mycroft...I wasn't fishing for money!" Her cheeks were red and she felt shame all the way down her toes.

Mycroft gave her a warm smile. "Of course not, dear...but nevertheless...if you change your mind, I owe you a great debt of gratitude. A few pounds to help ease your way would be the least I could do." But he could see that she wasn't ready yet to accept the help he was offering. "Just keep it in mind..."

Biting her lip, she nodded. "Thank you, Mycroft...I should be going. Would you mind if I used your telephone to call for a cab? I don't seem to get service here." Sherlock would be waiting with bated breath for her to return and then read every line of her face to determine what had happened during this trip.

"Nonsense!" He replied, "I'll have Anthea escort you home. No arguing!" Standing, he found the woman sitting in the kitchen still texting. "Anthea, would you mind escorting Miss Hooper back home?" It was not optional and the woman stood, getting her jacket from the closet.

Well, she supposed it would save her money on cab fare. Following Anthea out to the car where the driver was waiting, she slid in. Pulling the seatbelt on and searched her pockets for her phone. "Oh! I think I've dropped my-" Without being asked, Anthea's manicured hand entered her line of vision holding the phone, "Thank you."

The ride back to the flat was silent and she got out carefully once they reached her front door. She barely had a chance to close the door before the driver was off like a shot. Huffing slightly she walked up the stairs to where Sherlock was laying on the couch. Saying nothing, she kicked off her shoes and went to change into her stretchiest pair of pajamas...she still had half a box of chocolates left.

Sherlock followed after her and watched her. She seemed withdrawn but...oddly hopeful. He stood in the doorway for a long moment and studied her. Well that was something he hadn't expected to see!

His thoughts stirred once again as his eyes snapped open and he was brought back to the present. OF COURSE! It made perfect sense and he laughed, blowing a kiss into the sky. "Brilliant. Bloody brilliant!" He shouted as he grabbed his coat.

He needed to pick up everything he needed to solve this case...starting with an old friend.

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><p>Well...I lost muse for this story but I was reading a couple reviews and it sparked again! What do you think? Help me decide where to go from here!<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

The next few hours were somewhat of a blur to Molly. Jim seemed to have a permanent smile on his face...it was unnerving. She'd seen him smile before but never so...genuinely. Usually when he grinned at her it churned her stomach. There was malice and spite and danger lurking beneath the surface. But ever since she'd told him that she'd be the queen of his kingdom, he'd been like a little kid in a candy store. He'd personally cleared the table, kissing Mrs. Finney on the cheek as he pranced into the kitchen. The old woman blushed and then laughed, setting a cup of tea in front of Molly with a knowing look on her face before she headed up the grand staircase without a single word.

Molly sat there for a long moment, sipping her tea. The sound of water running in the kitchen startled her for a moment. Peeking through the kitchen door she saw Jim there with his sleeves rolled up, washing the dishes. It struck her as odd...she'd never seen a criminal mastermind do mundane chores before. She had assumed that he had an army of servants and slaves to attend to his every whim. Finding that he had an elderly housekeeper whom he doted on, Anthea at his service and perhaps a lawn service...made him seem more human somehow.

Letting the door swing shut, Molly headed toward the stairs. It was getting late and she was quite tired. She was all the way upstairs before she realized she had a straight shot out the door. She turned and stared at the front entryway, her heart pounding and her mouth suddenly dry. At this very moment she could hurry down the stairs, go out the front door and disappear into the woods before Jim even realized she was gone.

Licking her lips, she hesitated as she walked back down the stairs. The chandelier overhead was casting a soft glow over the foyer, the whole house seeming even grander now that it was lit up at night. Walking toward the door, she slid the deadbolt open and swung the front door wide open. The night air chilled her skin, gooseflesh rising over every inch of her. It was a welcome relief from the heat she was feeling. She waited for the alarm, for the bullet, for the booby-trap...but nothing happened.

Stepping out onto the porch, the sounds of twilight swallowed her up. It was gorgeous out here...the manor itself was larger than anything she'd ever seen. It made Mycroft's grand estate look like a bumbling country home. The grounds went on for acres in every direction, a large hilled valley overlooking lush gorgeous mountains, a babbling brook to the side, and dense, thick forest on the other. A person could get lost out here...she was lost just surveying it...

A noise from behind her caught her attention. Jim was drying his hands on a towel, placing it onto his shoulder as he rested in the doorway. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" His voice sent a fresh wave of gooseflesh sliding over her delicate skin.

"Yes..." Molly said softly. Her chance to escape had passed, she doubted Jim would simply let her run off into the forest now. If she ran, he'd chase her and with a baby in her belly, she wasn't likely to win. And she didn't want anything to happen to the babe, even if Jim Moriarity was its father. "You grew up here?"

Jim's features instantly tightened but his words didn't come out strained. "Yes, my father bought this estate when I was a boy." He didn't elaborate. Instead he moved toward her, wrapping his arm around her as he shepherded her toward the house. "I don't want you catching a chill..." He locked up the door, punching in the code to the security system before he peered at her. "I'll walk you back to your room."

His arm around her was a comforting presence, surprisingly enough. Although he was guiding her back to the house and locking her inside, he was warm and kind. Whatever reason he was putting on this showy display of kindness and tenderness, she had no idea...but she found it ever so pleasant. Nodding, she headed up the stairs and toward the gorgeous room that he'd picked out for her. Entering the room, she found that he stood right outside the doorjamb as if an invisible wall was stopping him from coming in. She turned, watching him a moment. "Are you alright?"

"It would be improper to enter you room without being invited..." Jim said, watching her in that dress that was hugging her every curve. He licked his lips, peering at her as she drank in his words. "I don't want to pressure you, Mollybear."

A slow burn was starting to smolder inside her...not enough to inhibit her judgment but definitely too hot to ignore. Licking her lips, she hesitated another moment. "Would you like to come in, Jim?" Why was she doing this? Why was she playing this game with him? She was too scared to admit the answer to even herself.

Grinning from ear to ear he stepped into the room, moving toward her immediately. His hands sought her warm body and he relished in the feeling of her shuddering in his grasp. Kissing him softly, he looked into those usually warm eyes but he found nothing but shock. She seemed completely taken aback by his advance.

Shock didn't even begin to cover it. Molly had been expecting more niceties and talking...to think of him as actually attracted to her was a completely foreign concept. Even when they first met, he was simply using her as a means to an end. He was using her to get information on Sherlock and to watch as his little game unfolded. The sex had surprised her though. Molly had been a virgin but it wasn't by choice really...she had dated a few random blokes in her day but none of them ever seemed interested enough to make her give in. She wanted the romance novel version of love...losing her virginity to a sexy man who adored her more than life itself. Jim had been a paltry substitute who she'd made love to because Sherlock had hurt her feelings that day. He'd been gentle and thorough with her, making her feel good while simultaneously teaching her the motions that he liked best. It was those actions that had put his babe in her belly...

"Jim..." Her voice cracked as she nervously raised her hands to touch his back. "I..."

Before she had a chance to finish, he kissed her again harder this time and with more passion. "You're bloody gorgeous, you know that? I've wanted to tear that dress off you the minute I saw you in it..." His voice was low and husky, his fingers traversing the silk of the fabric and knowing that it paled in comparison to the silky skin beneath.

"Gorgeous?" Molly squeaked, "Me? Oh I'm not...you mustn't say such things." She'd never been a great beauty. "I'm plain...especially in comparison with women like Anthea." Whom he seemed to have at his beck and call at all times.

"Anthea?" Jim spat, as if he had a horrible taste in his mouth suddenly. "That wench isn't nearly pretty enough to make up for her horrendous personality. I don't know how that boyfriend of hers deals with her..."

Molly smirked, "Fiancé now." Jim's hands were easing down the zipper on her dress and she could barely breathe. The cool evening air was a welcome from the slow fire that was building in her loins. Her fingers toyed with the buttons of Jim's shirt. What was she doing? Sleeping with the enemy...except...she wasn't sure that Jim was an enemy. He wasn't holding her against her will per se...she couldn't find the desire inside her to leave her. She had agreed to be his queen for God's sake.

Jim slid the dress down her shoulders, the silk easily slipping into a puddle on the ground. Kneeling to the ground, her wrapped his arms around her waist. He peppered kisses over her belly, resting his head there as he let out a possessive growl. "Mine...you're mine..." Looking up at her, he locked onto her face, "Say it, Molly. You're mine. _Say it_."

The tenderness with which he held her and lavished attention on the sacred space where his child was growing moved her. "I'm yours." Her voice came out as a strangled whisper. A grin spread over his face until Molly was sure it would crack. Dragging her panties down, Jim stood and scooped her into his arms. "Oh! Jim, be careful!" Yet he carried her as if she were light as a feather, laying her down onto the bed.

"Yesss..." Jim hissed, his eyes black as the pleasure coursed through him. Undoing a few more buttons, he pulled the shirt over his head. He groaned as Molly's nimble fingers came to help him undo the belt that held his trousers in place. "You are bloody gorgeous Molly and mine..._all mine_."

Arching upwards, she took a shaky breath, "Yours. All yours." Her loins were throbbing with need, the wetness glistening in the dim light of the bedroom. Blame it on the hormones or perhaps her inherent need to be desired but she was putty in his hands. "Please, Jim," Molly begged, her hair fanned out over the bed. Her body had ripened with the pregnancy, her breasts were larger, her curves more pronounced, and now her lips were swollen with his kisses. She could see how greatly Jim desired her.

Holding himself up over her, he drank in the sight of her. His queen, his mate, his partner...in one quick stroke he entered her, a jolt of pleasure burning through him as she whimpered. It was perhaps the most beautiful noise he'd ever heard. "Molly..." He whispered her name, beginning to move ever so slowly at first and then picking up as he felt her nails begin to dig into his back.

Jim felt heavenly pressed against her. The rhythm of their bodies was natural and she arched her back up. The heat that sang in her veins consumed her. Crying his name, she clung to him. Wrapping her legs around him, the aching that plagued and pleasured her was building. Her body tightened as if on a wire, pulling tighter and tighter, fraying at the seams until it snapped. Crying out, she bucked beneath him, "JIm!"

That was all he needed. The feeling of her tight body and the passion in her eyes drove him over the edge. Pleasure slammed into him as she squeezed him tight, causing him to burst into her. His woman...he was the only one who'd had her and the only one who ever would. Kissing her chastely, he cuddled against him. "I'll make you so happy, Mollybear. You will be my queen and I will be your king..."

His body gingerly disengaged from hers and he laid beside her, cradling her close. In that moment, Molly felt content. Closing her eyes, she let out a soft breath. "Yes, Jim..." She murmured, resting her head on his chest. Slowly exhaustion took over her and she fell asleep wrapped in the arms of an international criminal mastermind. In this moment, though, he was just Jim. _Her_ Jim. And she was content.

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><p><strong>Sooo yup this story is slow going in my head and I'm not sure I want to continue. I love me some Molliarty though...but this may not end up being that. I need some reader ideas! What is it you want to see? Should I even continue this fic? Let me know 3<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock hurried down the street past a cab waiting outside the door to the apartment. His eyes narrowed as he ascended the stairs with little fanfare. A form appeared in the doorway followed by the crashing of a plate. A smirk played over his face as he bounded up the stairs. Throwing the door open, his expression turned sour. "Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock boomed. Where were his things? Where was John's favorite chair? Why did it look like he was sitting in the Queen's parlor instead of 221B Baker Street?

Instead of the old worn furniture there were two elegant white wingback chairs to the left of the hearth and a matching sofa across the way. The floors were scrubbed clean and shone in the hazy London sunshine. All of his beakers, flasks and experiments were gone...even the walls had been refinished and painted a demure shade of institutional beige.

Turning, he saw the weathered, teary face of Mrs. Hudson staring at him as if she'd seen a ghost. "Oh for the love of God, get a hold of yourself." He snarled at her.

"Y-you...you're...you...but..."

"Alive. Yes." Sherlock finished for her, seeming annoyed by her failure to put the pieces together. "This place looks dreadful...simply dreadful." Sweeping toward the window, he grabbed the gauzy, delicate curtain and ripped it down, balling it up and throwing it in the fireplace. "Where's John?"

Mrs. Hudson was shaking like a leaf. Her senses were betraying her and she blessed herself a number of times, praying that this was not the angel of death coming to take her home. But this angel was far too snarky for his own good. Snapping her mouth shut, she cleared her throat, "I suppose you haven't heard..." She wrung her hands.

Assessing her shrewdly, he found the results to be astonishing. She was dressed to the nines in a royal purple dress that came down to her knees and delicate purple shoes. Pinned to her chest was a corsage of white roses and baby's breath. "Haven't heard what..." But he already knew.

"John's getting married today, Sherlock. The wedding is in half an hour and...I must leave now if I'm going to make it!" The cab was waiting downstairs. "And after I get home, we're going to have words, you and I! I mean it!" Sweeping down the stairs, she found Sherlock on her heels and getting into the cab with her. "Sherlock this is John's day, I don't think-"

"Mrs. Hudson! I know that you do not think! At the moment, all I need is for you to be quiet!" Rubbing his temples, he stared out the window of the car while he ignored her exasperated huffing. The landscape blurred in his mind as he focused so clearly on the situation at hand. John...getting married. What was he thinking?

The cab slowed to a halt outside the small church. Some might call it quaint but Sherlock could tell that beneath the new paint and flowers, the entire edifice was crumbling. Ignoring Mrs. Hudson calling his name, he stalked toward the church. He had approximately twenty-six minutes before they were too far into the ceremony for Sherlock to interject.

Grabbing his phone, he sent a text to his brother in typical Holmes fashion. _"442 Grandview Terrace, St. Vincent's Church...ready to be born again. Have car waiting." _Knowing John, Mycroft had been invited but he would have simply sent an expensive gift and spent his time in a much more important way than sitting in a church.

Walking around the side of the minster, Sherlock headed into the rectory and greeted the priest with a flourish of respect and goodliness. They chatted about sport and the weather as Sherlock donned the priestly garb as if was nothing new or special. Knowing there was a big game on, he asked if the priest would mind if he performed the ceremony; after all, he had known John his whole life and he knew it would be a very _special_ surprise. The man was all too happy to oblige...

Eighteen minutes before the ceremony, Sherlock had everything in order to put this whole fiasco to rest in under an hour. The sooner he was able to collect John, the sooner they'd be able to save poor stupid Molly from Moriarty. Looking at himself in the mirror, he grabbed the scepter from its holster and headed to the back of the church.

Three minutes before the ceremony the music began and Sherlock processed to the front, getting shocked looks and glances from the crowd as he stood there. John stepped out a few minutes later and knocked over an entire font of holy water. "You...you...YOU!" He hollered, pointing. "No...no, no, no, no, no, no, NO!" Breathing raggedly, he stared at him.

"Really, John, is this much drama really necessary?" Sherlock was clearly adoring the attention though. Lestrade looked suitably shocked and horrified and his date-of-the-moment was in all her glory trying to comfort him. And Mrs. Hudson simply looked annoyed. "If you'll simply grab your wallet and phone, we can be on our way." He said matter-of-factly.

Breathing still not under control, John shook his head, "No, this isn't possible! You're dead...I SAW you. I...I mourned for you!" He snapped.

"Not for very long," Sherlock replied tartly. "I'll explain everything on the way. Let's go."

"I'm getting MARRIED today Sherlock!" His voice boomed over the church. A silence had enveloped the crowd, their eyes riveted to the scene at hand.

Scoffing, he turned to him, "Now why would you do a thing like that? Honestly, John..."

John threw up his arms in anger, "Because I love her!" He cried. "And what happened to Father Thomas!?" He wouldn't put it past Sherlock to hurt a man of the cloth simply to get what he wanted. He couldn't trust Sherlock at all anymore.

Suddenly a very angry woman's voice emanated from the back of the church, "What the hell is going on! We were supposed to start this bloody thing a half hour ago!" Stalking up to the front of the church, her dark hair was curled and her veil cascaded around her shoulders.

Sherlock peered at her for a long moment before frowning. "I hardly recognized you without your phone, Anthea." He replied. "And what is it exactly that you're getting out of this? John has no money, no prospects, no career, quite possibly a receding hairline-"

"I'm a DOCTOR!" John interjected. "And I do not!" Self-consciously he dragged a hand through his short hair and was relieved to find that everything was still intact. He was, however, slightly frightened by the look on his wife-to-be's delicate face. She looked as if she'd swallowed something sour and it puckered all of her features. He was quite sure that if Sherlock was not dead before, he certainly would be soon if he continued to annoy his future wife.

Anthea let out a soft derisive snort, "Oh Sherlock...for someone so observant, you can be quite a dolt." Rolling her eyes, she focused her attention at the sparkling diamond on her finger. "I told you we should've eloped..."

Sherlock was twenty seconds away from stomping off and cursing Anthea under his breath. What was it that men saw in her anyway. He had half a mind to prove once and for all that she was not near as clever as she thought she was. Instead, he decided to let John dig his own grave. "Great, you can get married some other time. Right now, we have to rescue Molly...she's been abducted by Moriarty..."

"Abducted?" Anthea threw her head back and laughed, "Abducted...you think Molly was ABDUCTED by Jim?"

John stared at the two of them. Silently he walked to the first pew and sat down, looking pale and ghostly. "Does no one ACTUALLY die around here?! If this is true, I have a bone to pick with my grandmother!" Sherlock, alive? And now Moriarty?

"Jim did not ABDUCT Molly. She's free to leave at any time..." She reached into the bosom of her wedding dress and pulled out her phone. Grabbing one of the programs she wrote down the address and handed it to Sherlock. "Go on, go "rescue" her..."

Grabbing the paper, he crumpled it and tossed it. "I already know where they are! I deducted it!" Although after a moment, he picked the little wad of paper up, "Let's go, Mycroft is waiting. John, let's go!" Stalking halfway down the aisle, he noticed that John was still sitting there and Anthea was following him, "Oh no! NOT you!"

She sighed, "You're not going without me...and neither is he." Turning, she yelled at him, "John Watson, come on! We're going!"

Standing up, still looking shell shocked, he nodded and plodded along behind the group, "Yes, poppet." He left an entire church full of shocked and dismayed guests in his wake.

Following Sherlock out, she headed to a sleek black car with government plates. Her dress billowed around her as she noted Mycroft sitting in the driver's seat looking regal as usual. It surprised her as she didn't realize he knew how to drive. Opening the door she slipped in and watched as Mycroft's usual mask of indifference became tinged with surprise. It sent heat zipping to that secret place inside of her.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes, annoyed by the scene before him. Grabbing the bit of paper he thrust it forward. "_This_ address. If you're done making eyes at John's future bride, Molly Hooper is in grave danger."

Mycroft let out a disgusted noise. "If you're quite done making a scene. I already know where he is. Buckle up, we'll be there in a few hours." Pulling away from the curb, the merry band of Baker Street headed off on their next great adventure. Little did they know, they were about to step into a world of trouble.

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><p><strong>Well, this story hasn't gotten the response I'd hoped for. But somehow I managed to squeak out this chapter. Reviews will keep this story alive! I want your opinions and ideas! What do you think is going to happen next? Pretty please with a cherry on top!?<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

It occurred to Molly as she awoke that her bedroom was slightly fuller than when she'd gone to sleep. A hand rested gently on her throat and she cried out. "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON!?" She screeched.

"I told you she was alive," A wry voice emanated from the other side of the bed. Anthea was currently texting away, not paying attention to the scene at hand.

Sherlock frowned, "Yes, well..." He cleared his throat. "Molly we've come to rescue you."

John dropped his hand. "Pulse is good and strong...she appears to be in good health."

Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she pulled the comforter up around her. When she'd gone to sleep Jim had been there. They'd made love long into the night and then fallen asleep in each other's arms. Sometime before sunrise he kissed her forehead and slid out of bed. She smile to herself and rolled back over, not yet wanting to get out of the warm cocoon they'd created. It was embarrassing that she'd slept so late...especially since she clearly had guests.

Sitting up on her elbows, she stared at them, "You've come to rescue me from what? And of course my pulse is strong! I'm fine. Where is Mrs. Finney?" She asked, worried that they'd done something to the poor sweet housekeeper.

Mycroft piped up then, "She's downstairs making tea." He replied, arms folded over his chest. "Perhaps we should allow Miss Hooper to freshen up a bit?" He could sense the distress the young woman was feeling over being seen in her nightgown by a gaggle of near-strangers. "Come." Grabbing Sherlock by the scruff of his collar.

Molly sent him a look of gratitude. She peered at Anthea who wasn't following the boys. Now that she'd wiped the sleep from eyes, she was surprised to see her in a wedding dress. "Did I miss something?"

"Absolutely everything," She replied, setting her phone on the bedside table. "Unzip me, would you?" Turning, she picked the veil out of her hair and tossed it aside. "I've been wanting to get out of this bloody thing since your Sherlock dragged us all on this fool's errand."

Slipping out of bed, she unzipped the dress before heading into the closet. "He's not...MY Sherlock." She replied hotly, "And I'm not exactly sure why you brought them here. They're sitting ducks!"

Smirking, she sat on the bed in her corset. "What makes you think this wasn't the plan all along, Mollybear?" Crossing her legs, she stared at the girl and simply laughed. "Jim was right about you, you're just the sweetest...it's sickening, really."

"Yes well..." She huffed and stalked out wearing a simple pair of white linen pants and a flowing purple top. She supposed that she was Moriarty Royalty now, she may as well dress the part. Sitting down at the boudoir, she put on a smear of lipstick and blush. "No one asked you, Anthea. I simply inquire as to why it is you would lead the man you're in love with here like a lamb to the slaughter."

"John can hold his own-" She started but Molly cut her off brutally. "I'm not talking about John, Anthea...I'm talking about Mycroft!"

Silence hung over the room for longer than a minute.

Anthea got up and stalked into the closet and came out wearing one of Molly's new outfits. Her wedding dress laid there discarded and crumpled like a used tissue. "For the record!" She replied hotly, "Mycroft and I are...ancient history. We tried it and...that was it." She huffed haughtily, "I don't see what you're so smug about, you're James Moriarty's new toy. He's bound to get bored sooner or later."

Molly stood up, "I'm the mother of his child! His queen! I don't have to justify myself to you...we're happy." And she was. She didn't know where Jim seemed to disappear to every day and a part of her truly didn't want to know. But when he was there, he was so attentive and loving and sweet; not at all the criminal mastermind that they painted him to be. Yet the question remained: would he get bored of her? Would he someday want to be rid of her? If that were true, what would happen to their child?

"Think about it..." Anthea taunted, "He's a man of many tastes and many vices. What could he see in a mousy, plain thing like you?" Walking behind her, she turned her toward the mirror. "Look at yourself. Look at what _you_ want...you may want to rethink allowing Sherlock to rescue you."

Staring back at her was the same reflection as she'd always seen. Yet,she was dressed up in nice clothes, she had a soft glow about her that she could only assume was a result of her pregnancy. Turning to Anthea, she shook her head, "No..." Stalking out of the room, she swept down the stairs into the drawing room where Mrs. Finney was fawning over her guests. "I have an announcement."

Mycroft, Sherlock, and John were seated in the lavish room looking suspiciously out of place against the stark white decor. Sherlock sniffed the tea, unsure of whether or not he should drink it. Mycroft had already drained his cup, knowing that nothing had been tampered with. John was still too shocked to do much of anything at all. All three looked up as Molly came thundering in.

Sherlock stood the moment she entered the room, taking the wind right out of her sails. He stepped in front of her and she swallowed. Looking up at him, all her insecurities came flooding back. He towered over her and suddenly she was transported back to last Christmas. She'd dressed to the nines to impress him, tarted up in a tight dress and wearing the expensive perfume that her mother had sent her for her birthday. She'd bought him a gorgeous gift and despite his usual callousness, that night he kissed her. A kiss that had curled her toes and sent tremors pulsing through her. She took deep breaths to try and steady herself but she couldn't. Not when he stood there staring at her with those piercing blue-grey eyes. Eventually she gathered up all her nerves and stomped her foot, "Sit back down!"

Slightly shocked that Molly had shown any backbone at all, Sherlock reluctantly slunk back to the couch and sat next to Mycroft, looking sour.

"I'm here of my own free will. Jim is NOT forcing me to be here...I can leave any time." The only one who seemed surprised by that was John. "Jim and I are...happy, alright?" Straightening her posture, she licked her lips, "And we're having a child."

John nearly fell out of his chair, "What!? You and...you and Moriarty!?" He threw up his arms, "Someone wake me up from this bloody nightmare! This simply cannot be happening!"

Molly felt a pang of sadness for John. He was the one she related to the most...she wasn't extraordinary like Jim or Mycroft or Sherlock! She wasn't clever like Irene. She wasn't pretty like Anthea. She was a perfectly ordinary, kind, sweet person. "I know this may seem strange to you but I'm...happy."

Sherlock couldn't hold back any longer. "Happy? Molly, please..." He snarled. "You're living in a fantasy, trying to replace ME with some twisted version of Jim you've created in that soft little head of yours."

"Sherlock!" Mycroft scolded, rolling his eyes skyward. That was quite possibly the worst thing to say to a woman let alone one who was on the precipice of choosing between good and evil.

Anthea scoffed, "Oh please, Mycroft, it's true." She flitted into the room with Jim on her heels, carefully pulling his tie off. He was smiling like the cat who got the canary as he lingered a moment in the doorway. It appeared as if his face could crack at any moment with the magnitude of pleasure that radiated outwards into the room. Everyone shifted uncomfortably at the sight, even Molly.

"Well well well, Mollybear, you didn't tell me that we were having guests. I'd have picked up some _punch_ on the way home." Slipping behind Molly, he coiled his arm around her waist. Gingerly he leaned in and captured her lips, shooting a triumphant look at Sherlock as he did so. "In this, as in everything else, I've already won, Sherlock. So you can simply take your hound and your lapdog home...it was an admirable try." He chuckled derisively, "You see, our game is only just beginning...and there can only be one winner. And make no mistake," The mask slipped for a moment and showed the malice roiling beneath it, "It will be me."

Loudly, Molly cleared her throat. "You gentlemen may show yourselves out." And that was not a request.

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><p><strong>Loving the reviews! Keep them coming for more chapters! What're you liking? What're you not enjoying? Let me know!<strong>


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